titched busily on, never allowing ambition to
distract her from the immediate task. Baffled, the girls fell again to
their work. That Sally Minto was deep--you couldn't tell what she was
doing, what she was thinking. She was deep. Under her breath Sally was
humming a tune, a familiar tune. A slow grin spread over her white face,
and faded again. Looking up, she caught Miss Summers's eye, and smiled
faintly, gratefully, reassuringly. She recognised at once how pleased
and proud Miss Summers was at Sally's progress. If her mind had not been
so busy, Sally would have felt a little warmth stealing into her heart;
but she was not aware of anything except Sally Minto and her plans for
worldly advancement. She for this moment saw Miss Summers also merely as
an instrument, a plump, pussy-faced woman with an eternally cold nose
and a heart quick to respond to the best efforts of her favourite hand.

xv

It was with a jump of excitement that Sally heard, in the following
week, that Madam was very ill indeed. Gaga came in the morning with a
haggard face, having spent the night by his mother's bedside. He had a
few words with Miss Summers, who came out of the room with a comically
solemn look upon her plump face. She made no remark to the girls, but at
lunch time, when the others were out, or were dispersed in the part of
the building where they were allowed to eat whatever they had brought
for lunch, Sally stole into Madam's room and found Gaga there, sitting
at the desk with his hands covering his face. When Sally approached him
he did not seem to have heard her, but continued sitting thus lost in a
depressed stupor. Sally knew that there was nobody in the room behind
her: they were quite alone.

"Mr. Bertram!" she said, quietly. Still he made no response. Her heart
quickened. Was he asleep? Was he--was he dead? She took a further step,
and then spoke his name again. There was a slight movement. He was
awake, and merely very unhappy and perhaps exhausted. With the slightest
feeling of self-consciousness she advanced to Gaga's side, and laid a
hand upon his shoulder. She could see the thinning hair upon the top of
his head, and the long slim fingers pressed to his temples.

"Mr. Bertram, I'm so sorry," whispered Sally. Her arm slipped farther
round his shoulders, and her breast was against his head, so gently
pressing there that Gaga was only conscious of the faintest contact. He
relaxed slightly, and his hands fell. Two gloo